3:00 p.m. The air was still. Not a leaf, not a blade of grass, not a pine needle moved. Calmness smothered me as I stood on the porch looking for the rain to come. Nothing gave any indication of the anticipated storm. Nothing.
4:00 p.m. I heard rumbling in the distance. Was it trucks or thunder? I couldn't tell. There were no flashes of light, no loud cracks or earsplitting crashes. There was only the distant rumble of something.
5:00 p.m. It was definitely thunder I heard, low rumblings every few minutes. A storm was on its way. I waited for the sky to open up and wring out its clouds on my house. Come on rain.
6:00 p.m. Distant thunder was still noticeable, but the moisture falling on my roof certainly wasn't what I was looking for. I don't think we got even 0.10 inches of rain. In fact, according to this old housewife's method of measuring, the cake pan on my deck collected 4 1/2 tablespoons of water.
By 8:00 p.m. everything was over, and I was disappointed. If there is going to be thunder, let it crack, pop, and cause me to cover my ears. If there is going to be rain, let it run down the windows and shoot out the ends of the gutters. If there is going to be wind, let the tree branches dance with abandon. How anticlimactic those six hours were...at least for me they were anticlimactic.
Around 8:30 p.m. the phone rang. "Mom, did Big Dog make it to your house? The thunder must have scared her off. We've looked all over, called and called, but there is no sign of her. Did she come over there?"
She had done that very thing on two other occasions. Both of them on the Fourth of July.
"Let me check. I didn't hear any scratching at the door, but she might be here. Just a minute... Sorry, I called her a couple times, but she doesn't seem to be around."
"Okay, thought I'd check. We'll keep looking."
9:00 p.m. my son and granddaughter ring my doorbell. They had driven over looking for Big Dog. Maybe they would see her running down the highway. Maybe she had been hit by a car. No dog anywhere. As they drove back toward home I could hear my granddaughter yelling out the open car window, "Big Dog, Big Dog. Here girl."
For the next two hours I kept checking my front porch for any signs of that sweetheart of a pooch. Each time, I saw no footprints, I saw no mud, I saw no dog. I was extremely sad. "Lord, keep her safe." I prayed as I climbed into bed.
Before falling asleep I could picture her running frantically through the ferns, and the blackberries, and the thick fir trees trying to escape the noise closing in on her. I could feel the panic she must have felt with each thunder rumble during those hours of the storm. I hoped she hadn't tried to swim the river as she had done in the past. But where was she? Was she safe?
I checked my porch at 1:30 a.m. No dog. I checked at 4:30. No dog. I checked at 6:30. still no dog. Around 11 a.m. my son called with a question. I didn't let him finish. "Did Big Dog ever show up?" I blurted out.
"Oh yeah, she did. There was no sign of her when I went to bed around 11, but she was home this morning. She was covered with mud, and very tired, but she is safe." I was relieved.
So, what was an anticlimactic, so-called storm to me, was a fear and panic filled afternoon and night for a sweet, gentle family pet. I still feel so bad for her. Next time thunder is forecast during my kids working hours, I will go sit with Big Dog. To be more accurate, I'll let Big Dog sit with me, with her head on my lap and her sad, questioning eyes looking in my face. "Don't worry, girl, I'm right here with you."
That is what God did for me when I was fearful and in near-panic mode five years ago. He held me and said, "Don't worry, girl, I'm right here with you."
Celebrating Big Dog's return,
Jan
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